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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



BERMUDA VERSES 



"LARRY" CHITTENDEN 

'Poet Ranchman," Author of " Ranch Verses' 



K' -^ .:V 



ILLUSTRATED 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

NEW YORK LONDON 

27 WEST TWENTY-THIRD STREET 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 

Ube ftnfcberbocfiec press 
1909 






Copyright, 1909 

BY 

WILLIAM LAWRENCE CHITTENDEN 



Uhc ■ftnicftcrbocljcr prcse, Hew lotft 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


Two CoDies Received 


APR 19 190d 


-. Copyritrtt tntry 
CLASS a XAc. i^o. 



DcDlcateft 

To all Lovers of 

BERMUDA 

The Ocean Paradise and Evergreen Land — 

A Sub-Tropical English Garden at New York's Front Door- 

Forty-five Hours from Broadway — 

Off South Carolina Coast 

Winter Temperature, 55° to 70° 

Summer *' 70° to 86° 

No Fogs. Flowers always 



" There 's no place like Bermuda, for here, bedad, we find 
The Isles of Maine, the Indies, and Italy combined" — 

Saj/s Mr. Lafferty—page 32 



Photos by 

W. H. Potter, 

Bailey's Bav, Bermuda, 

AND 

Lkwis Constable 

Hamilton, Canada, 

AND OTHERS 



CONTENTS 



Bermuda Etchings, No. i — The Bermudas . 

Bermuda Etchings, No. 2 — Harrington Sound 

Bermuda's Invaders 

Tom Moore . . 

Bermuda Etchings, No. 3 — Walsingham 

A Bermuda Fairy Tale . 

A Bermuda Reverie 

Lines to some Bermuda Ladies who kindly Sent Punch, 
Cake, and Valentines to the Poet Ranchman at 
Church Bay ..... 

Bermuda Etchings, No. 4 — The South Shore 

Bermuda Etchings, No. 5 — Joyce's Cave 

The Ocean Yacht Race .... 

Bermuda Etchings, No. 6 — To the " Lysistrata ' 

Lahferty's Bermuda Letter 



page 
I 



4 
9 
1 1 
12 
19 



27 
28 
29 

3> 

32 



To A Little Bermuda Girl who Gave me her Collie Dog 39 



vi Contents 

PAGE 

Bermuda Etchings, No. 7 — St. George . . -43 

"Larry's Lodge" ....... 44 

Bermuda Etchings, No. 9 — Church Bay . . -47 
Bermuda Etchings, No. 10 — The Bos'un Bird . . 48 
Bermuda's Guardians: " The Forty-sixth Cornwall " . 49 
Good-bye ........ 52 

Returning to the Ranch . . . . -54 

Wherb the Woodpecker Knocks on the Door . . 59 

Reciprocity ........ 64 

A Vision ........ 65 



ILLUSTRATIONS 



A Lily Field — Hanington Sound — Hamilton Harbor 

Frontispiece 

" Ye Wayside Inns": "Seaward," Hanington House 

" Bermuda Invaders " 

"Invaders " in Possession of Lodge 

" Invaders " at the Lodge . 

Bermuda Palms 

" Walsingham " — Moore's House 

The Fireplace in Moore's House 

Map of the Bermudas 

The Bermuda Hunt Club . 

Bermuda Fairies 

Bermuda Fairies 

" The children are fairies, as everyone knows " 

Mullet Bay, St. George's .... 



4^ 

6. 

6 

8^ 

ID 
12 ^ 

12 

>4 / 
i6 , 
i8 '' 

20 '' 



Harrington Sound " Natives" — Caught near the " Lodge" 20 
vii 



VIU 



Illustrations 











PAGE 


St. George's .... 






. 22/ 


Cathedral Rocks — Somerset 






, 22 


Crystal Cave .... 








• ^4/ 


Joyce's Cave .... 








• 24 


The Winning Yacht " Tamerlane " 








. 26/ 


The " Lysistrata" 








. 26 


Bermuda Scenes 








. 28^ 


Bermuda Scenes 








. 30/ 


" Our Bailey's Bay Post-office " . 








. 32/ 


Bailey's Bay Tennis Club . 








32 


" Hilda" and her Friends . 








34 


Bermuda Hotels 








36/ 


" Larry's Lodge" 








38' 


Interior of Lodge 








38 


Scenes near Lodge 








40^ 


Church Bay Etchings 








42 ■ 


Church Bay Etchings 








46. 


Yachts — Hamilton Harbor 








48 V 


Regatta Day — in Harbor . 






48 


Bermuda's Gallant Guardians: the Fort 


y-sixt 


1 Corr 


iwall . 


50 Ir 



Illvistrations 



IX 



Presenting Colors ...... 

Group of Officers ...... 

Steamer " Bermudian " Outward Bound 

Steamer " Prince George" Entering St. George's Harbor 

Bermuda Scenes ...... 

Church Bay Church ...... 

Island Memories ...... 

"The Strenuous Life": "Come in, Teddy, the water's 
fine ! " ...... 

Ye Bard's Exit 



PAGE 
50 

50 
52/- 

62 y^ 

62 

64 



BERMUDA VERSES 



Bermuda Verses 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. i 

THE BERMUDAS 

B -RIGHT land of lovely lilies, 
roses, and cedar trees, 
E-nchantment dwells about thee and in thy em- 
erald seas. 
R-are palms and oleanders woo tropic tints of 

bloom 
M-idst homes of purest coral and bowers of rare 

perfume. 
U-pon thy lonely headlands and on thy echoing 

shore 
D-reamed long ago a Poet;— all hail to Thomas 

Moore ! 
A- thousand charms surround thee; here there 

is health and rest; 
S-weet, radiant, rare Bermudas, the Islands of 

the Blest. 



H 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 2 

HARRINGTON SOUND 

-ERE where the world is quiet, and where 
no trouble seems, 

A- soul might sing forever amidst a land of 
dreams. 

R-emote from noisy rabbles and fashion's tuneless 
throng, 

R-ich echoes haunt the silence in this sweet realm 
of song. 

I-f bards could hint the music of this rare rap- 
turous shore, 

N-ew leaves might crown their laurels and fame 
forever more. 

G-reat crags and lonely islands midst purest em- 
erald seas, 

T-all palms and radiant flowers woo whispering 
cedar trees. 

0-ld gardens filled with roses and lilies fair 
abound, 

N-ear groves, and caves of coral, along this land- 
locked sound. 





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" Seaward. 




Harrington House. 



Harrington Sovmd 3 

S-weet incense of ambrosia wooes every fluted 
air; 

0-n crag and cliff and headland is beauty every- 
where. 

U-nique it rests forever unvexed by crafts of 
steam, 

N-o commerce mars its slumbers and here no 
white sails gleam, 

D-efended pure and lovely — it dreams within a 
dream. 



BERMUDA'S INVADERS 

LORD Roberts wants a million men to keep 
the Germans out 
From England's lightly burdened lands — a glo- 
rious scheme — no doubt? 
But what about Bermuda's needs — Britannia's 

loveliest isles, 
Just now beset by alien hosts, with arms, and 

gold, and — ^smiles! 
The transports are all burdened down — the 



enemy appears 



Sharp-shooters of proud Uncle Sam, the Sweet 
Girl Volunteers! 

Yes, there is danger in the air: a dashing daunt- 
less band 

In dress parade and deftly armed beset Ber- 
muda's land. 

Invasion! yes, that is their game — they ride 
through every gorge, 

Unmindful of the livery bills, from Front Street 
to Saint George. 
4 



Bermuda's Invaders 5 

They flaunt gay colors everywhere, shoot shafts 

from starry eyes. 
And make the native angels sigh in this real 

Paradise; 
They capture all the big hotels— the local beaux 

and all — 
And they will conquer too, I ween, the "Forty- 
Sixth Cornwall"! 
Ye heroes of a hundred fights, ye warriors from 

Soudan, 
To arms! Beware the Yankee girl— she "loves 

a soldier-man." 
She robs them of their swagger sticks and buttons 

by the score, 
And oh, she dotes on Englishmen and then she 

sighs — for more. 
The dangers ye have safely passed are naught 

to her, 1 swear; 
Bermuda's Gallant Guardians, brave Forty-Sixth 

— beware ! 



The houses all are filling now; the ladies great 

and small 
Are pouring tea and bombarding the Forty-Sixth 

Cornwall. 



6 Dermxida's Invaders 

Gay Colonel This and Major That and Captain 

Never Slow 
Are doing yeoman service now — aye, marching 

to and fro. 
"What are the bands a-playing for?" says 

Fi-Lees on Parade; 
"The gurls is ere! we're tunin' hup!" — The 

color sergeant said. 
The enemy assails Prospect — MontpeHer has been 

won! 
Saint George, at last, is sore besieged by a fair 

Garrison. 
The Governor is in retreat, and Justice it is 

clear 
Has doffed its gown, and proudly yields to a 

Queen Volunteer! 



The Native Sons are falling fast, the Masters 
at the Post; 

Bird's Island, aye, and Cedar Hurst, fell to this 
charming host; 

And there are others sore beset — romance is in 
the air; 

Ye Island Beaux, gay gallants all, and Bache- 
lors — beware ! 




Constable, Phntn. 



"IxvAnKRs" IN Possession of Lodge. 




Constable, Photo 



"Invaders" at The Lodge. 



Bermvida's Invaders 7 

The Union Jack and Stars and Stripes, a com- 
bination grand, 

Float o'er the ramparts of the heart in proud 
Bermuda's land; 

Long may they wave forever true, in every calm 
and breeze, 

The Guardians of Peace and Right o'er all the 
Seven Seas. 



Intelligence should rule the world — ^all anger, 
greed, and hate 

Should be controlled by Two-Power minds and 
taught to — arbitrate! 

May God's grand Armageddon dawn — that glo- 
rious peaceful day 

"When spears are beat to pruning hooks," and 
swords are laid away; 

May ground-doves nest, aye, everywhere — around 
the cannon's mouth; 

And Northern hearts all learn to love God's 
proud poetic South. 

May Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men, ob- 
tain through all the world, 

And war drums sob their last tattoos, and 
battle-flags be furled. 



8 Bermuda's Invaders 

Men's hearts are growing kinder now— no matter 

what "they say," 
For Right and Peace, and Love must rule, and 

God shall reign— some day. 



i 



I 



TOM MOORE 

THOUGH the Shamrock may fade while the 
pale lily weeps 
In the Over-Sea lands where the Irish Bard 

sleeps. 
His memory blooms in these islands around 
And brightens the Dreamlands of Harrington 

Sound. 
While his name so immortal, resplendent, and 

strong, 
Illumines the world from the temples of song. 
Now never a dreamer or singer should soar 
Without bowing low at the shrine of Tom 

Moore. 
They should visit Bermuda's proud Isles of the 

sea, 
Then view Walsingham and Moore's calabash 

tree; 
They should hum that fond air as the glowing 

sun sets, 
"The heart that has truly loved never forgets," 
9 



lo Tom Moore 

"The Loves of the Angels," and rare "Lalla 

Rookh," 
And his soul-stirring songs they should ne'er 

overlook; 
They should read about Nea, the Poet's sweet- 
heart, 
Then love the pale singer because of his art. 
The world has grown sordid with grafters and 

knaves, 
Yet Fame guards her wealth and her dead Poets' 

graves, 
"And the tear that we shed, though in secret it 

rolls. 
Shall long keep their memory green in our souls." 
They sang— aye, they died— and their spirits 

have trod 
O'er life's mountains of care to the Gardens of 
God, 

Those balm-breathing gardens of peace-giving 
breath 

In that Morning-kissed land o'er the River of 

Death, 
Where never an echo or murmur of wrong 
Shall mar the grand notes of their Infinite Song. 



I 




" Walsingham " — ?iIii()Ki;'s House. 




The Fireplace in Moore's House. 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 3 

WALSINGHAM 

W -I THIN this ancient mansion, in storied 
days of yore, 
A- poet dreamed rare fancies — all hail to Thomas 

Moore ! 
L-ikewise here dreamed a lady, a woman known 

to fame, 
S-upposed to be Moore's sweetheart, proud "Nea" 

was her name. 
I-f from beyond that curtain through which no 

eye can see, 
N-ea and Moore could whisper, what would their 

story be? 
G-one — aye, but not forgotten! Ah, life is but 

a sigh! 
H-ow soon the singer passes — but good songs 

never die! 
A-nd though we must go Seaward to pale obliv- 
ion's shore, 
M-oore's songs shall live in memory and heart 

forever more. 

II 



A BERMUDA FAIRY TALE 

FOR THE CHILDREN OF "MULBERRY VILLA," 
SHELLY BAY, BERMUDA ^ 



M 



Y dear little Helen 

And Donald and "Rete"; 



Your message has come 

And it seems very sweet. 

For you sent me your love 
On a cute little card 

Displaying a house 

In a cute little yard. 

And is that your "Villa" 
Where mulberries grow 

In the beautiful land 

Where you never have snow? 

Those beautiful islands 
I long for to-day, 

> Published by special request in Bermuda Colonist. 

12 



I II K 
HfiRMlTDAS 




^Ajsi,- 







Photo by Bradley. 



Map of thk Bermudas. 




Photo by Grantham. 



The Bermuda Hunt Club. 



j\ Dermxida Fairy Xale 13 

Where the fairies are playing 
Around Shelly Bay — 

For the children are fairies, 
As every one knows 

Who lives in " the Land 

Of the Lily and Rose"— 

And where 't is the custom, 
Ah, yes, quite the rage 

For school-going children 
To ride on the stage, 

On a stage which runs round 
Through a beautiful gorge 

From Hamilton town 

To the town of Saint George. 

Now once in my travels 
A few months ago, 

I rode on that stage. 

As you very well know, 

And there like two pictures 
Perched up on the seat 



14 -A. Bermvida Fairy Tale 

Were two lovely Fairies — 
Miss Helen and "Rete." 

The driver he knew them ! 
The horses did too, 

For they wagged their old tails, 
Seemed to say, "How de do ?" 

And the gay blushing flowers 
All nodded that day 

As we travelled along 
To fair Shelly Bay. 

The sunbeams were waving 
Gay banners of gold 

In that land of enchantment 
As onward we rolled, 

And the people we met 

In those flower-clad miles 

All seemed to salute us 

With showers of — smiles. 

They knew that the Fairies 
That day were at hand. 




Bermuda Fairies. 



A Bermvida Fairy Tale 15 

As we all rode along 

Through a real Fairy Land, 

Where the roses and lilies 
And rare cedar trees 

Forever are wooed 

By the purest of seas; 

Where the "bee banquets on 

Through a whole year of flowers," 

And life is a dream 

Amidst glad golden hours ; 

Where spotless white houses 
Deck the coral reef sod. 

And rare birds abide 

In the gardens of God. 

But do you remember, 
My dear little sprites. 

That coral-gemmed Eden 
The fair "Isle of Wight's." 

Where we watched the great vessels 
Work in through the west 



1 6 A. Bermuda Kairy Xale 

From far-away lands, 

To your dream-land of rest ? 

Where we all went fishing 

And you caught some whales. 

Just the same as the children 
In real fairy tales? 

And where we went swimming, 
And Donald did too, 

And Helen got frightened ? — 
You know this is true ! 

Yes, yes, she was frightened. 
Because, I suppose, 

Some wicked old mermaid 
Was pinching her toes; 

For the wonderful mermaids, 
The sea nymphs with curls, 

Who live in the water. 
All like little girls. 

So when you go swimming 
Mind what you 're about. 








zmM 




---..#'t 









Bermuda Fairies. 



A. Bernivida Fairy Tale 17 

For the mermaids will catch you 
Unless you watch out. 

And they will carry you off 
To their coral-bound caves, 

Far away from your mother, 

Down, down, 'neath the waves. 

Where the sea-serpent dwells 
With the child-eating shark. 

And the devil-fish swims 

And it 's dismal and dark; 

Where ghosts and bad giants 
Are drifting around, 

To catch naughty children 

Who sometimes are — drowned. 

So mind the good Sisters 

Who manage your school. 

And try to live up 

To the great Golden Rule, 

And mind your dear parents. 
And never do wrong. 



B A Bermxida Fairy Tale 

But bless you, my fairies. 
This tale is too long; 

Hence I think I must stop 
Till we four shall meet. 

So good-bye, dear Helen 

And Donald and " Rete." 

New York, Dec, 1906. 



A BERMUDA REVERIE 

WHEN the soft silver hair of the moon is 
uncurled, 
There are visions and dreams of that far-away 

world ; 
We can hear the low lull of the waters that roar 
On the Morning-kissed sands of Eternity's shore, 
And fainter — from farther — there echoes along 
The angelic sigh of an infinite song. 
For dear voices come, soft, sad, sweet, and low 
From the shadowy vales of the dim long-ago. 
Then the pale lilies weep, and lonely winds sigh 
Since life is — a tear — a smile — and good-bye! 

We all must soon sail for that silence profound, 
Far, far, from the Dreamlands of Harrington 

Sound. 
Past deep Castle Harbour our vessels shall be 
Adrift and alone on a harbourless sea. 
No light of Saint David's shall show us the way 
On that last lonely reach o'er ObUvion's Bay, 
19 



20 A. Bermxida Reverie 

Where spectre barks drift and haunted winds 

sigh 
Near pale coral reefs of that dim Bye-and-Bye. 
Yet the Master has told us, and so it must be, 
When the last trumpet sounds "there shall be 

no more sea." 
There 's a dawn in the East, past rainbows of 

Quest, 
When the battle is o'er, where the weary may 

rest. 

Beyond the last twilight of life, far away. 
The sun shall arise o'er a limitless day; 
Past shadows of trouble and cloudlands of care 
There are mansions of light in God's Over-There. 
So what does it matter — life's worry and grief ? 
The journey o'er lowland and river is brief. 
Let us sow a few seeds — and sing as we sow — 
And do the kind thing wherever we go; 
With lilies of love and joy's roses and smiles 
Let us make life an Eden — to-day — in these Isles ! 




I'liuto by Bradley. 



Mullet Bay, St. George's. 




Bagot, Photo. 

Harrington Sound "Xatives" — Caught near "The Lodge." 



LINES TO SOME BERMUDA LADIES WHO 
KINDLY SENT PUNCH. CAKE, AND 
VALENTINES TO THE POET RANCH- 
MAN AT CHURCH BAYi 

The Punch 

EXCUSE us, fair ladies, for the pleasure we 
take 
In thanking you here for the gifts and the cake. 
The punch is delicious, sweet liquid sunshine, 
A cordial for angels — pure nectar divine. 
Great Homer has sung of the vintage of old, 
But here 's to Bermuda's gay drink of pure gold ! 
Rare rum from the Indies illumines its smile, 
Which topers declare is far "smoother than — 

ile." 
The fruits of the Tropics and spices combined 
Are blended in thee, by all artists refined; 
The milk of pure kindness dwells deep in thy 

heart 
And soothes every soul with rare infinite art. 

> Prom the Bermuda Colonist, February 19, 1908. 
21 



22 TKe OaKe 

The knights of Barbados make "swizzles" in 

vain, — 
Milk punch stands unmatched on the old Spanish 

Main. 
The Outerbridge blend we believe is the best, — 
'T is a drink for the gods in this dreamland of 

rest. 
Tom Moore would have loved it in brave days 

of yore — 
Your health, gentle ladies, and here 's to Tom 

Moore! 



The Cake 

The cake — ah, the cake! — 'twas delicious and 

good — 
A gift from an angel — ^yes, real angel's food! 
" Elijah was fed by the ravens," they say. 
But angels feed bards in Bermuda's Church Bay. 
And angels who came to our cedar grove strand, 
With brave buccaneers, declared the cake grand. 
You cannot imagine the pleasure we had 
In cutting that cake and — ^just eating, bedad! 
One gay jolly captain who rode on his wheel 
Charged chocolate-creamed ramparts and won a 

square meal. 




Photo hv Bradley 



St. (ikokuk's. 




Photo by Vail. 



Cathedral Rocks — Somerset. 



XKe CaKe 23 

A knight named "Sir Arthur," who hails from 

the West, 
After four chocolate charges unlimbered his vest, 
And later we saw him alone — with a flower — 
Yes, Robb-ed of his heart in our cute "kissing 

bower." 
That bower's a dream! You shall see it some 

day — 
If you deign to examine the charms of Church 

Bay. 
But bold "Kissing Bugs" are now flying around 
The Bachelor's Lodge, on fair Harrington Sound ; 
E. Partridge, the marksman, who came pen in 

hand 
To shoot up our follies, avowed the cake grand; 
Sir "Hastings" and "Horace" were present, 't is 

true. 
With sweet Spark-ling ladies who cut the cake too. 
And Hilda, our coUie, of course she was there. 
And gravely ate cake from her seat on a chair. 
When meals at the Lodge are all ready to eat 
Miss Hilda appears and takes a front seat. 
Right up at the table, where her wistful eyes 

shine 
And show that our doggie is waiting to dine. 



24 XKe "Valentines 

The Valentines 

To the lasses who penned us the sweet valentines, 
We send them our heart tied up in these lines, 
And though it is leap year, as you have well said. 
Just a word of advice if you really must wed. 
Don't marry a poet — a bard will not do 
As a husband, or slave, for such angels as you. 
All women court comfort, want wealth and good 

meals ; 
Most poets go hungry; they live on — ideals! 
They never have mansions — for cash they don't 

care; 
Their wealth is in fancy — their castles in air. 
"All bards are like turkeys," the Colonist said: 
Better known and more loved — when they are all 

dead. 
Oatmeal and fresh water and love, we are told, 
Was the diet of bards in the brave days of old; 
They had no sea gardens, or Davis at hand 
To furnish them food in this real fairy land ; 
With goings to Gosling's and Thompson's — en 

flight— 
And Burrows', we conquer our fierce appetite! 
Doctor Anderson's cocktails at the Princess Hotel 
Don't soothe a real poet,— they made him unwell; 




Crystal Cave. 




JoYCFj's Cave. 



XKe "Valentines 25 

But the doctor's all right— little shy on the 

clime. 
Yet it "will be warmer," dear Doctor, some time. 
The shackles of marriage, alas, would be hard 
If you were yoked up to a star-gazing bard; 
So take our advice, it is true and it 's fine: 
Don't! don't! take a bard for your real valentine. 
Just marry some fellow with feet on the ground, 
Some Lord of Creation — or Harrington Sound. 
There are lots of good chappies more worthy 

than we 
Who would make better husbands, as you shall 

soon see. 
Most "poets are fickle" and "wicked" — they 

say — 
There 's a divil's own cherub up here at Church 

Bay. 
We are "vain and conceited" — Miss Know-it 

says so; 
She knows everything, so of course she must 

know. 
"All poets are crazy" — of course this is true, — 
'T is a wild crazy fellow that 's writing to you. 
Bards like simple things, they are creatures of 

moods, 
Who love the wild sea and the lone solitudes, 



26 TKe Valentines 

And sometimes at midnight midst darkness and 

gloom 
They go to a church-yard to muse by a tomb; 
They are cross, gloomy fellows, unworthy, 't is 

true. 
To ever aspire to angels — like you. 
So don't marry poets! Now it surely is clear 
I am losing all chance for this lovely leap year, 
But I 've told you the truth, dear ladies divine, 
Don't — don't — choose a bard for your real 

valentine. 



"Larry's Lodge," Church Bay, 

Bermuda, February 14, 1908, 
Valentine's Day. 







Cuurtcsy of Rudder Publishing Co. 

The Winning Yacht "Tamerlane. 



•^ 




\\'eisb, I'liuto. 



The " Lysistrata. " 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 4 

THE SOUTH SHORE 

S-ONG leagues of emerald splendor here woo 
a lovely land 
0-f oleandered beauty and purest 

coral sand; 
U-pon the sun-kissed headlands the zephyrs 

wander free, 
T-elling the listening lilies the 

poems of the sea; 
H-ere Nature paints rare pictures of immortality. 

S-ad echoes, — mournful dirges, — surround this 

Southern Shore, 
H-aunting the cedared silence with sighs of — 

never more; 
0-ut in the azure offmg the wondrous water 

gleams, 
R-esplendent with God's jewels and Time's 

eternal beams; 
E-nchantment wooes the vistas and lulls the 

soul to dreams. 

27 



J 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 5 

Joyce's cave 

-AGGED and weird are its wonders, rare, 
haunted, profuse and profound, 
0-utdoing the art of the ancients, dreams this 

great Masterpiece underground; 
Y-ears, aye — ^yes, for ages and aeons — the slow 

silent chisels of Time 
C-arved there in a gallery of Beauty real statues 

and etchings sublime, 
E-nduring as unwooed Carrara, as spotless and 

pure as the snow, 
S-trange phantoms and visions abide there 'midst 

dreams of the lost long ago. 

C-lear lagoons of water have wedded this mar- 
vellous cave to the seas, 

A-nd underground islands of marble gleam there 
in a harbor of ease. 

V-ain, vain are mere words in describing this 
wonderful sight 'neath the sod — 

E-nchantment abounds in the chambers of this 

grand silent castle of God. 
28 



THE OCEAN YACHT RACE^ 

NEW YORK TO BERMUDA 

ALL hail the dauntless Tamerlane, 
Her crew, and Fleming Day! 
The winners of the ocean race 
To proud Bermuda's Bay. 

Through lonely leagues and weary nights 

That gallant craft has sped, 
To emerald seas and glory rare, 

Off old St. David's Head. 

And then straight on through Grassy Bay 
Close-hauled and snug and tight, 

She sought the realms of Fairy Land, 
Right off the Isle of Wight. 

Where now the fluttering sea-birds' cries 

Are echoing far and near, 
"The Tamerlane has crossed the bar. 

Bold Fleming Day is here." 

' From the New York Herald, June 5, 1906. 



30 TKe Ocean YacHt Race 

A yachtsman of the Seven Seas, 
The bard whom we recall — 

The author of "Ten Thousand Sail" 
"And swiftest of them all!" 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 6 

TO THE LYSISTRATA 

MR. JAMES GORDON BENNETT's YACHT, VISITING 
BERMUDA 

L-ARGE craft of grace and power, proud Prin- 
cess of the Sea, 
You are a great creation. All hail, 

we say, to thee! 
S-wift as a snowy petrel, you skim the Ocean's 

breast, 
I-n^piring all beholders, where'er you chance to 

rest. 
S-taunch as an ocean liner, or galleon 

rare of old, 
T-hou art indeed a picture, a dream of white 

and gold. 
R-are taste and art and splendor are lavishly 

bestowed, 
A-nd everything is perfect in this Press King's 

abode. 
T-he whispering air is fettered to echo thoughts 

from thee, 
A-nd so is every science, thou conqueror of the 

sea. 

31 



LAFFERTY'S BERMUDA LETTER 

Mr. Patrick Lafferty, an Irish gentleman now in 
Bermuda, writes to lis old friend Mr. Dooley, 
the famous Chicago philosopher. Lafferty' s 
words about Bermuda, the auto car, Mark 
Twain, " Mr. Ruse Felt," and other notables 
are faithfully and correctly reported by Larry 
Chittenden, poet ranchman, as follows: 

ME dear frind Mister Dooley — Oi'm sendin' 
yez a line 
To tell yez ov me travels: Bedad, Bermuda's fine ; 
Such lovely radiant islands — grand views on 

every hand — 
A region of enchantment — a flowery fairy-land. 
No other place is like it, for here, bedad, we find 
The Isles of Maine, the Indies, and Italy com- 
bined. 
And oh, such wondrous waters — old Erin's 

" emerald green, 
'Mid peacock blues and sapphires — the purest 
ever seen. 




"Our Bailkv's Bay Post-Office." 




Potter, Photo. 



Bailey's Bay Tennis Club. 



Laifferty's Bermvida Letter 33 

No man can ever paint them, nor words can ever 

name 
Bermuda's wondrous pictures — all in a coral 

frame; 
And yet the Artist Farnum, now on the Isle 

of Wight, 
May make this land immortal: his work is "out 

of sight." 
When Nature brewed her rainbows she mixed 

her colors grand 
Upon a gorgeous palette in fair Bermuda's 

land; 
Wid brushes made of palm trees she drew a 

canvas bold. 
Then framed it round wid cedar and sunset seas 

of gold. 
She studied art in caverns — God's castles under- 
ground — 
Wid miles of lovely lilies and onions all around. 
The air is pure and bracing, the trees are ever 

green. 
The houses are of coral — the cleanest ever seen ; 
Each one has some attractions — all charming 

Oi confess — 
Neat castles of contentment — real homes of 

happiness. 



34 L-afferty's Bermxida Letter 

In simple kindly fashion, the people live along 
On tourists, flowers, and onions, and life is one 

sweet song. 
Our old frind Cecil Tucker is now Postmaster 

here; 
McCallan his assistant will help him mail good 

cheer. 
Our Baileys Bay Post Office is in a parlor fine, 
Where Mr. North and daughter deliver us — 

sunshine ! 
Bermuda 's a grand country — a lovely parlor 

land — 
And here we common peopull can view the great 

and grand: 
Mark Twain arrayed and hatless wid Rogers 

rides in state; 
Wid wit and oil and money, Bermuda should 

be great. 
Mark 's giving us great lectures — chuck full of 

human light; 
Faith, every one should hear him this coming 

Thursday night. 
Oi 'm told that our Big Baker just now has 

wondrous schemes. 
Shure Ed is a born magnate — ^wid rale Thomp- 

sonian dreams. 




Farnum, Photos. 



"Hilda" and her Friends. 



Lafferty's Berxnvida Letter 35 

Up-Town Sinclair is writing a grand immortal 

fake 
About our Social Sinners, our Tennis Teas and 

Cake; 
And here we have a poet, a crazy chap they 

say. 
Who lives amongst the tombstones and mer- 
maids of Church Bay. 
Some citizens are making a lot of auto "noise," 
P'r'aps they have livery stables which every one 

employs. 
A study of this business (?) some wondrous things 

reveals — 
Some hidden combinations — the wheels within 

the wheels. 
This herding up the tourists in dear old Hamilton 
So livery men can bleed them is too much 

overdone ; 
Yet now the "House of Wisdom" is favoring the 

steeds: 
Autos with close restrictions are what Bermuda 

needs. 
About 4000 people have used the Spurling 

cars 
This season in Bermuda without much hurt or 

scars ; 



36 Lafferty's Bermuda Letter 

One doctor got some bruises — some onions had 

a fall- 
Some skeery folks were frightened — much talk, 

but that was all. 
Because a few spoiled horses may shy or prick 

their ears 
Must Progress be forbidden and stopped, alas, 

for years? 
And must our patient people now pay 3000 pounds 
To buy up all the autos upon Bermuda's grounds? 
Arrah there, don't be talking — Oi know what 

Oi 'm about — 
Bermuda needs cheap transit to move the people 

out; 
To take them to St. George's and far-off Somerset 
Lest many good Bermudians their old-time friends 

forget. 
All hail the Scarlet Runner! let 's have at least 

five more — 
With careful, thoughtful drivers — ^when this 

great din is o'er. 

Then when the war is over — as it will be some 

day — 
Let 's know each other better when mists have 

rolled away; 



Lafferty's Bermuda L-etter 37 

Let 's banish all bad feeling, and do the best 

we can 
To live that great religion — the Brotherhood of 

man. 
Life here should be a poem, and, though it now 

is Lent, 
The Bos'un Birds are feasting in islands of 

content. 
There 's no place like Bermuda — this Eden of the 

Sea 
Is just an earthly Heaven — where every one 

seems free; 
Here is no White Man's Burden or hatred of one 

race; 
Each lives and has his being in his appointed 

place. 
The blacks are all respectful, can read, and are 

polite — 
Here when at eve you pass them they always 

say "Good-night!" 
Shure, Dooley dear, Oi'm thinking the British 

folks are wise 
In their administrations — ^John Bull can colonize! 
Oi know the old West Indies — have lived in 

England, Doo, 
And been a close observer of British justice too. 



38 Lafferty*s Bermtida Letter 

Until somehow Oi 'm thinking that British laws 

are just 
And that our Yankee freedom Just now is all a 

Trust; 
Wid crooks and politicians. Big Sticks in 

Printer's Ink, 
And Lawson and The System, U. S. is on the 

bhnk. 
There 's too much White House Thunder — when 

will it ever cease? 
Our Presidential Barnum should give his coun- 
try peace! 
But Uncle Sam will prosper, in spite of slips 

and screeds. 
Intercommunication is what Bermuda needs — 
The auto or the trolley, it 's all the same to me — 
Cheap rides for all the people — that 's what says 

Lafferty. 

Bermuda Colonist, April 4, 1908. 




Constable, Photo. 



" Larry's Lodge. 




Constable, Photo. 



Interior of Lodge. 



TO A LITTLE BERMUDA GIRL WHO GAVE 
ME HER COLLIE DOG 

MY dear little Joan, I send you a line 
To tell you of "Hilda." — Your doggie is 
fine ! 
After leaving your Papa and Mamma that day, 
With Gosling's dog biscuits we started away 
And caught the old stage which runs through 

the gorge 
From Hamilton town to the town of Saint George. 
Brave Hilda sat with me upon the front seat, 
Where she wagged her proud tail, looking saucy 

and neat. 
The passengers smiled and the gay driver said, 
"That is a wise dog, sah, — she has a fine head." 
And one lovely lady — let 's call her Miss B. — 
Said, "What a nice collie — please give her to me." 
But Hilda, she barked — she seemed to say "No! 
Bow wow! Miss — I thank you. Ged ap — let us 

go!" 
So off we all started, midst good-byes and smiles; 
Then the lean horses ate up the evergreen miles 

39 



40 Xo a Little Bermxida Girl 

Till Dorothy Lindsey, who saw us go by, 
Clapped her cute little hands and just shouted, 

"Oh, my!" 
The twilight was weaving rare banners of 

gold 
Through this land of enchantments as onward 

we rolled. 
And far in the distance the gates of the West 
Swung wide their grand portals to dreamlands 

of rest. 
Then Hilda she dreamed of two soft eyes of 

blue 
And a dear little girl: it must have been — 

you! 
At last after crossing a beautiful ridge, 
We came to the home of Miss A. Outerbridge, 
Who likes all good doggies and has a kind 

heart. 
And there we alighted to make a new start. 
Right there we found children — Miss Helen and 

Lee, 
With Ely — all Jelliffes — and waiting for tea. 
They gave us such welcomes, and Helen's brown 

eyes 
Just sparkled and danced with delight and 

surprise. 




Scenes near Lodge. 



To a Little Bermxida Girl 



41 



Then the children all promised to wander around 
To the new home of Hilda on Harrington Sound. 



It 's a marvellous realm and we want you to come 
And see us some day in our white coral home. 
Hilda owns the whole house and she sleeps on 

the floor. 
And would you believe it? — Miss Hilda can 

snore. 
Our Jesssie she likes her — and my she likes 

"Jess"— 
For Jess is the servant who feeds her — ^"I guess"! 
Mr. Potter, my neighbor, who lives very near, 
And knows about ranching, says Hilda 's a deer. 
She really is dear, and has eyes like a fawn, — 
E. P. Roe took her picture last week on the 

lawn. 
" Kernal" Ellis and ladies who happened around 
Said Hilda was queen of all Harrington Sound. 
So don't you feel sorry or sigh for your dog. 
But Just come and see her and sit on my log, 
My log 'neath the cedars which grow chocolate 

creams 
And cookies and cakes that are Thompsonesque 

dreams. 



42 To a Little Bermuda Girl 

She will take you in bathing and show you a 

trick, 
How she jumps in the water and swims with a 

stick. 
I will give you a grotto where fairies reside 
In a submarine garden well tilled by the tide. 
There are marvellous flowers and jewels and 

pearls. 
And wonderful mermaids with beautiful curls; 
'Neath the emerald water, down, down 'neath 

the waves 
There are all kinds of Joyce's and Wilkinson's 

caves. 
But if you get tired — perhaps you can have tea 
In a humming-bird's bower with Hilda and me! 
So come along soon, Miss Joan, don't dodge — 
We all want to see you out here at the Lodge. 




Photos by Roe. 



Church Bay Etchings. 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 7 

ST. GEORGE 

S-URROUNDED by etchings of nature, it 
dreams on the heights of the sea, 
A- modernized castle of comfort, a Mecca for 

you and for me. 
I-f the gallant old tars of Bermuda could come 

from the lost long ago, 
N-o doubt they would stare at the progress, for 

the Sea Venture now is not slow I 
T- is a craft where old ship mates may gather, 

a haunt which all tourists should know. 

G-ood will is the way in Saint George's, where 

the natives all study to please; 
E-ach stranger is welcomed with kindness and 

feted with sailings and teas. 
0-h, this is a town for ye poets! ah, here we 

don't have to disgorge, 
R-ah! rah! for the rare Somers Islands! three 

cheers for the sons of Saint George! 
G-ood luck to the realms of Bermuda, the Land 

of the Lily and Rose, 
E-ach day is her loveliness dearer — each hour 

a dream of repose. 

43 



"LARRY'S LODGE" 

TIS a dear little place in a grove by the sea, 
Where the birds and the fairies are living 
with me. 
The lonely stars love it, and the proud cedar 

trees 
Are full of sad music — the sigh of the seas; 
The old Abbott's Cliff leans aloft to the skies 
In this lily-clad realm of a lost Paradise. 
Here the Bos'un Birds come, and the sea-gulls, 

they say. 
Have wonderful concerts at times in Church Bay. 
Ah, the church is a picture — a poem of old — 
A song with a sermon, close, close to the mold 
Where the lost dreamers sleep 'neath the coral- 
gemmed sod 
Since their spirits have gone to the gardens of 

God— 
The beautiful gardens beyond the dark tomb, 
Where the roses and lilies eternally bloom. 
When the soft silver hair of the moon is uncurled 
There are visions and dreams of that far-away 
world ; 

44 



** Larry's Lod^e " 45 

We can hear the low lull of the waters that 

roar 
On the silver-kissed sands of Eternity's shore, 
Where spectre barks drift through a silence 

profound — 
'T is a harbor of dreams is fair Harrington Sound. 

Yet long, long ago, in the brave vanished years 
This Bay bore the barks of the bold Buccaneers, 
And to-day their wild hearts haunt the winds 

and the rain 
And spectres appear from the old Spanish Main. 
Hard by on Hall's Island rare treasures were hid 
By that Croesus of pirates — the great Captain 

Kidd. 
La Fitte the bronzed Creole oft sailed through 

the gorge 
And anchored his barks in the bays of Saint 

George ; 
To-day, near Moore's Mansion, strange verdure 

appears 
Which tells of the Tropics and sly Buccaneers, 
Who planted weird creepers and vines all around 
To hide their retreats in the caves underground. 
Near there it is said, a refuge was made 
By contraband vessels which ran the blockade. 



46 "Larry's Lodge" 

A gunboat was built on Church Point in Church 

Bay 
And the ways of that boat are observed here 

to-day. 
Here Chapman, a colonel, of Great Britain's best, 
Has planted bright blooms round ye Poet's rare 

Rest; 
Where the Governor came, all forgetful of State, 
And dreamed in the grove past the little white 

gate; 
Where artists like Alden, and editors grim, 
And children and mermaids all come for a swim. 
Here yachtsmen, like Beihng and Stryker and 

Day, 
Have loafed with their souls and ye Bard of 

Church Bay. 
Here Potter takes Photos — artistically too — 
And p'r'aps, gentle reader, some day he '11 take 

you. 
If you visit the Lodge in a grove by the sea 
Where the birds and the muses are living with me. 
Where the lone Abbott's Cliff leans aloft to the 

skies 
In this lily-clad realm of a lost Paradise. 




Church Bay Etchings. 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. 9 

CHURCH BAY 

C-ALM in its sylvan beauty it dreams midst 
emerald seas. 
H-ere all is rest and quiet — a real 

Hesperides, 
U-nvexed by noise or rabbles, far from the city's 

throng; 
R-are echoes haunt the silence in this pure realm 

of song. 
C-oncealed 'neath palms and lilies, lost in pale 

homes of sleep, 
H-ere dwell God's quiet dreamers, who neither 
work nor weep. 

B-eside the purest waters, beneath the softest 

skies, 
A- steadfast spire is pointing the paths to 

Paradise. 
Y-ea, this is an Elysium — a shrine where Memory 

sighs. 



47 



B 



BERMUDA ETCHINGS, NO. lo 

THE BOS'UN BIRD 

►-RIGHT-WINGED dream of beauty, since 
you again appear 

0-n fair Bermuda's islands, we know that spring 
is here. 

S-wift as the stormy petrel, you fly across the 
skies, 

U-ntamed and loved forever, Sea-bird of Para- 
dise; 

N-ew hopes attend your coming, new dreams with 
you arise. 

B-ermuda well might claim thee, and yet thy 
flight is far 

I-n warmer tropic countries where loyal trade- 
winds are. 

R-are is thy graceful beauty, thou " long-tail " of 
the sea. 

D-elighting all beholders, blithe bird of Purity. 



48 




Biishell's Handbook. 



Yachts. Hamilton Harbor. 




Regatta Day — in Harbor. 



BERMUDA'S GUARDIANS 
"the forty-sixth Cornwall" 

ALL hail Bermuda's guardians — her soldiers 
great and small, 
Bronzed bulwarks of the British Isles — The 

Forty-Sixth G)rnwall. 
They fought and won a score of fights — then 

trecked ten thousand miles, 
To where they win the people's hearts in all the 

Fairy Isles. 
Their bugles are a-blowing now — their flags are 

well displayed; 
The Forty-Sixth is at Prospect — her men are on 

parade. 
No "absent-minded Beggars" here — but soldiers 

one and all, 
Bermuda's gallant guardians — The Forty-Sixth 

Cornwall — 
Her officers and Tommies too — ^we offer them our 

hand — 
That valiant jolly regiment with Chapman in 

command. 

4 49 



50 Bermxida's Gviardians 

The genial Chap — a fighter, yes — built on a gen- 
erous plan, 
Who wielding sword and brush and pen is every 

inch — a man! 
To Captains Fargus, Kirk, and Dene, Ste- 

RiCKER, Taylors two, 
The Majors three, Lieutenants all, we dip our 

flag to you. 
The Yankee flag of Uncle Sam — and here 's our 

Texas cheers, 
For Colonel Wright and Major Young — The 

Royal Engineers! 
To Bagot, Conner, Fuller, Day — The Royal 

Garrison — 
The Chaplains — Surgeons — Service Corps — sa- 
lutes for every one. 
And here 's to General Wodehouse gone to fill 

a big recall, 
Commander now in India — the best beloved of 

all. 
Loud volleys for the Governor — a FIVE-CLASP 

medal man. 
Who ruled the Nile, controlled Khartoum, and 

fields South African. 
To Colonels Baker — S. Frew-en and Captain 

Nicholson 



fill 



«|Ui4Vi«ill 




■fej5S%*«W^,W,^«M«<«*i»« 



,"'Vi/,nipnmi\if 




'M.I -t ' • k 








Pliotos by Weiss, Potter, and Bradley. 

Bermuda's Gallant Guardians: the Forty-sixth Cornwall. ^ 



Berin\ida*s Guardians 51 

The "R. G. A's" — Militiamen, salutes for every 

one. 
Bermuda's gallant guardians — no matter who 

ye are — 
Old Uncle Sam salutes you all and says — hip! 

hip! hurrah! — 
The bugles are a-blowing now — the flags are well 

displayed — 
Some valiant sons of Albion's Isle — to-day are 

on parade. 
Hence in this flowery, lovely land — we here 

salute them all. 
Bronzed bulwarks of the Fairy Isles — The Forty- 
Sixth Cornwall. 



GOOD-BYE 

TO-DAY, Little Girl, your note has come, 
And with it the South Wind's sigh. 
There is much to be said, but my lips are dumb; 
I am not surprised, though my heart is numb — 
Good-bye, Little Girl, good-bye. 

The sad old sea sings a song to-day. 

The song of a lost soul's cry; 
The billows moan, and they seem to say, 
"Farewell, we must part and go our way" — 

Good-bye, Little Girl, good-bye. 

The dream I had was wondrous fair. 

But alas! it was all a — lie; 
Yet fancy clings to a dream more rare, 
And I shall find mine own — somewhere — 

Good-bye, Little Girl — ^good-bye. 

We never met, though we thought we did. 

And now it were vain to try; 
From each to each our souls are hid. 
And future meetings the fates forbid — 

Good-bye, Little Girl — good-bye. 

52 




Steamkr "Bermudiam," Outward Bound. 




Steamer "Prixce George," Entering St. George's Harbor. 



Good-Dye 53 

No matter that time for me brings rue, 

May your life be glad and high; 
May all your hopes and dreams come true 
And all your friends be proud of you — 
Good-bye — good-bye — good-bye ! 



Belle Harbor, N. Y., 
July 29, '06. 



w 



RETURNING TO THE RANCH 

ELL, fellers, I 've got home agin, and hit 
seems sorty strange 
To mosey roun' the ole corrals on this hyar 

lonely range. 
This evenin' az the sun went down, and I cum 

up the trail, 
An' seen our little low-roofed house a squattin' 

in the vale. 
An' when I struck the brandin' pens and heered 

old Pinto's barks. 
An' listened at the cagey Jack and them ole 

medder larks. 
Then when I looked at Skinout Hills a-veiled in 

purple air. 
The twilight seemed to smile at me an' glow a 

welcom' there. 
An' when I seen the S. B. brand, an' that ole 

sorghum stack, 
Them saddles hangin' by the door, hit seemed 

like gittin' back; 

54 



Retvimin^ to tHe RancK 55 

But when I viewed thet pided steer, and heered 

yer had no rain, 
I knowed thet I hed hit the ranch, hed shore got 

home again ! 



I 've seen a heep uv plezzant things, and yet hit 

did me good 
Ter spy ole Jim in his ole Jeans jest packin' in 

the wood ! 
An' thar was Buck an' Horse-shoe Sam, an' thar 

upon the still. 
All smiles an' spurs an' high-heeled boots, wuz 

russler Windy Bill. 
Oh, Bill, they say, hez got renown, an' perhaps 

you may recall 
How he performed one Christmas time an' led the 

"cowboys' ball." 
Then az I crossed the littered yard and pulled 

the lazy latch. 
An' seen them ole termater cans, I knowed 't was 

Hvin' batch. 
An' when I ate them unblessed beans and lin- 
gered round the pork, 
I thought of London's tabble dotes and dinners 

in New York; 



56 Returning to tHe RancK 

But when I chose some soggy bread, and seen the 

fellers look, 
I knowed thet I wuz home agen — thet Windy 

Bill was cook! 



Well, ez we sot around the fire and heered the 

coyotes' cries. 
And listened at the owl's hoo-oo, I told some 

whoppin' lies. 
Yes; while the boys chawed navy-plug, I lied 

an' yarned about 
My travels over land an' sea until their eyes 

bugged out. 
At last the boys rared back to talk, an Hash 

Knife showed his hat. 
An' then I heered of maverick steers, an' kyort» 

an' sech az that. 
They joked about a shootin' scrape, an' John 

who laid in Jail, 
An' then they cussed the Deestrick Judge fer 

not acceptin' bail. 
At last old Horse-shoe blurted out from off his 

blanket bed — 
" I reckon that yer heered about yer yeller mare 

wot's — dead? 



Returning to tKe RancK 57 

She was a right peert little hoss, chuck full uv 

grit and pride; 
But she got puny when yer left, and then she 

up an' died!" 



Ah! then somehow a silence cum, an' in the 

chimbly there, 
I sorty kep' a seein' her — ^that little yeller 

mare! 
I thought about them tricks an' ways, her hon- 
est, faithful eyes. 
Until the moanin' midnight wind wuz jest a 

wailin' sighs! 
I never hed a friend like her, so activ', sure, an' 

true; 
No matter what the bizness wuz, she 'd allers 

pull yer through. 
An' onct at night she saved my life — outran a 

prairie fire; 
An' ez fer swimmin' swollen streams, uv thet 

she 'd never tire. 
An' often on the starlit plains, where we the 

night would pass, 
I 've heered that mare a munchin' songs out in 

the needle grass. 



58 Returning' to tKe RancH 

Oh! when I cross the dark divide fer pastures 

over there 
I hope I '11 find that little hoss, my dear ole 

yeller mare. 



Well, all ter onct, while studdyin' on, I heered 

ole Windy snore! 
Ah! then I knowed I 'd hit the ranch! I 'd done 

got home fer shore. 




pq 



WHERE THE WOODPECKER KNOCKS ON 
THE DOOR 

YES, fellers, I 'm back at the old ranch again, 
the place that I feel is so dear, 
'Mongst the coyotes and rabbits and prairie dogs 

vain, and methinks it is good to be here, 
Where the birds are all singing around on the 

trees, and the owls are calling tu-whoo! 
Ah, there 's music to me in the soft-sighing 

breeze, and the northers are musical, too. 
You may talk of the pleasures and joys of the rich, 

your oprees and parties so gay. 
But I don't keer a fig fur them things an' all sich, 

fur yer see I 'm not built thet 'er way. 
Hit don't make much difference what any one says 

'bout the pleasures of life in New York, 
But for simon pure pleasure an' wild nature's 

ways, jest give me my ranch on the Fork. 
For here we 're all happy, away from the throngs, 

far away in the lone solitudes. 
Where the voices of Nature are full of sweet songs, 

full of music that matches all moods; 

59 



6o "WKere tKe "WoodpecKer RlHocKs 

And oft in the morning, the bright Texas morn, 
when our dreams of the night are all o'er, 

We awake from our slumbers, as sure as you 're 
born, by the woodpecker's knock on the 
door. 

Now, the people out here who attend to the ranch 

and rustle the outfit and herds 
Don't put on much style or keer for Long Branch, 

but they keer for us boys and the birds. 
They are kind to all critters, as you may suppose. 

The 'possums sleep under the house. 
The coyotes are friendly, as each chicken knows. 

We have prairie dogs tame as a mouse. 
The martins are nesting all under the eaves. The 

beef steers go nosing around. 
The house is wide open. No danger of thieves — 

there 's nothing to steal that I 've found. 
The heelflies make love to the heifers and cows. 

The blackbirds just love that old steer. 
We 're at peace with the world, and away from all 

rows — oh, I tell you, we 're happy out here ! 
Yet oft in the summer the rattlesnakes come to 

sleep in the shade of the yard; 
But the dogs wake them up till their rattles just 

hum — ah, the snakegressor's way is so hard ! 



WHere tHe WoodpecKer RnocKs 6i 

Still the best thing of all and the sound that I 
love is that music I 've mentioned before; 

It is sweeter to me than the song of the dove — is 
that woodpecker's knock on the door. 

Oh, this gay speckled bird is an old friend of 

mine, for here is just where he was 

born. 
He drinks from the bucket— our water is fme— 

and he runs the whole ranch every morn. 
He hops to the kitchen, stands in with the cook, 

in his knowing old woodpecker way; 
But if she don't feed him, he gives her a look, and 

then he just hammers his lay. 
"A rap a tap tap, a tap tap a tap tup!" I must 

have my breakfast, you see. 
You people are lazy. It 's time to get up! "A 

rap a tap, tap a tap, tap— tee!" 
Oh, I tell you that bird is a knowing old cuss. 

He shows it with many a proof; 
And he makes a big racket and terrible fuss when 

he hammers away on the roof. 
"A rap a tap, tap a tap, tap a tap— tit"— these 

shingles, boys, never will do. 
They are full of wood insects. They '11 have to 

be split— "a rap a tap, tap a tap too." 



62 WHere tHe ^JVoodpecKer RnocKs 

Yes, I tell you, he knows, that sapsucker bird, 

just what that old roof has in store. 
Ah me! we have music which you may have 

heard, where the woodpecker knocks on 

the door. 
We don't envy "Teddy" his strenuous strife. 

We hope he won't get in a fix; 
But we 're stuck on the free easy West Texas life, 

far away from machine poly-ticks. 
Now, speaking of "ticks" — ^you know what I 

mean — ^we don't have those varmints out 

here. 
Though I 've heered they was kotched down in 

old Abilene on a Bar Y C Circle F steer. 
Our cattle are healthy. We 're over the line. 

Jones County from fever is free. 
Our crops are immense. Wheat and cotton are 

fine, but the nesters are close herding me. 
Now, I am a stockman who has a big range; but 

"the man with the hoe" is about. 
The country 's all fenced. There has come a big 

change. The ranchman will have to git out. 
The farmers are smiling. There 's plenty of rain. 

Our new town of Stamford is grand. 
They say that old " Anson will shore git the train " 

— and the settlers is wanting more land. 




Constable, Photo. 



ClIL Kt ]1 PjAV I'Ul'KL'II. 




Bushell's Handbook. 



Island Memories. 



"WHere tHe WoodpecKer RnocKs 63 

I suppose we will have to gear up and go west, 

pull our freight for the foot of the Plains, 
Where the prairie dog sneezes and pulls down 

his vest and the jackrabbit prays for the 

rains. 
But no matter what happens, wherever we go, 

we shall think of old S Forty-Four, 
That ranch on old Skin Out — which you perhaps 

know — ^where the woodpecker knocks on 

the door. 

Chittenden's Ranch, Anson, Tex., 
April, 1 90 1. 
From Galveston-Dallas News. 



RECIPROCITY 

PAUL and I as friends were noted 
Till we met the fair Miss Kate; 
Then, as rivals, both devoted. 
All our friendship turned to hate. 

Well, at last he won my treasure. 

They were married in the fall; 
Matrimony seemed such pleasure — 

How I envied happy Paul ! 

Years have passed — poor Paul looks weary; 

I am single, gay, and free; 
Matrimony proved so dreary — 

Heavens, how Paul envies me! 



64 




Roe, Photo 



"The Strenuous Life": "Come ix, Teddy, the Water s 1"i.\i: 




Ye Bard's Exit. 



A 



A VISION 

WHAT DID THE LADY DO? 

T midnight sad and lonely, within a haunted 
room. 

Midst Hope's lost shattered idols, and Memory's 
gathering gloom, 

While spectral phantoms whispered thoughts of 
the shadowy shore 

And ghosts of wrecked ambitions suggested — 
Nevermore — 

We had a wondrous vision, a dream which 
cannot die, 

A rare immortal picture, in mansions of the sky. 

Above the morn's projections, beyond the loneli- 
est star. 

Love sketched a glorious etching, we viewed it 
from afar. 

We saw a great-souled woman, with glorious ear- 
nest eyes, 

Holding the keys to heaven, at gates of Paradise. 

S 65 



66 A Vision 

Pure as some chaste Madonna, proud as a queen 

of state, 
Saint Peter might have wooed her, up there at 

heaven's gate. 
And there were countless lovers — alone, unloved, 

apart. 
Who sought to pass the portals — the heavens of 

her heart. 



Some titled men approached her, and knights 

from everywhere; 
All failed to gain admission, they could not enter 

there. 
And then those weary wanderers, from whom all 

hope had fled, 
Departed sad and humbled — "She has no heart," 

they said. 
"She lives but for ambition, she dwells too far 

above 
The lowly ken of mortals — she does not care for 

love." 
At last an humble singer, a bard arrived too 

late. 
All travel-worn and weary — approached fair 

heaven's gate. 



A Vision 67 

He did not try to enter, but, ah, he lingered 
long. 

And then at last at twilight, he hummed an 
ardent song. 

The song was unpretentious, but filled with 
earnest words, 

And music of the prairies, and notes of mocking- 
birds; 

'T was plaintive, sad, and pensive, and yet at 
times 't was free 

And full of nature's music, and echoes of the Sea. 



It whispered of the flowers, pure kissed with 
summer rain, 

And, though it never murmured, it breathed of 
echoed pain. 

It told an old, old story — a glorious song of youth, 

The hopes and dreams of mortals, and, ah, it 
thrilled with truth! 

At last some angels heard it; their harps re- 
sounded then — 

"This is an earnest singer, he loves his fellow-men. 

His heart beats high, but kindly, his music is 
sincere. 

And since his soul is weary, he ought to enter here. 



68 A. Vision 

We pray you, good Saint Peter, and that proud 

Lady there, 
Admit the lonely singer, and free his heart from 

care." 
But then the vision faded, and now amidst life's 

din 
We wonder if she listened and let the singer in. 
Since angels heard the music so sweet and sad 

and true 
And pleaded for the singer — IVhat did the Lady 

do? 



fi Selection from the 
Catalogue of 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



Complete Catalogues sent 
on application 



A SELECTION OF FIFTY 
PRESS OPINIONS OF "RANCH VERSES." 



" Ranch Verses" are tuneful, manly in sentiment and musi- 
cal in flow. They have a right cheerful tone, and are full of 
spirit and vivacity. The joy of existence and the sense of 
perfect sympathy for free and tameless nature animate Mr. 
Chittenden's lyrics. — London Saturday Review. 

The ballads and character sketches inspired by life in the 
Lone Star State have the genuine ring. They are worthy of 
a place beside those of Riley, Field, Harte, and Miller. Mr. 
Chittenden's versification is musical, fashioned by that true 
art which conceals art. A picture of the Ranch, and other 
illustrations, and the appropriate cover, help the appearance 
of the book. — Review of Reviews. 

" Ranch Verses " have a catching cheerfulness, and are in- 
teresting as the expression of feelings widespread in the great 
American democracy. They are all bright, fluent, and read- 
able. — Edinburgh (Scotland) Scotsman. 

Once in a while the wanderer through the desert of printed 
verse chances upon an oasis where everything in sight is nat- 
ural, human and refreshing. Such an experience may be 
gained by a perusal of Mr. Chittenden's book— a volume which 
is nowhere pretentious, although everything in it is sincere. 
Chittenden's spirit is both fanciful and sentimental, without 
ever being mawkish or coarse.— John Habberton in Godeys 
Magazine. 

" Ranch Verses " is the modest title of a book of very clever 
harum-scarum sort of mixed singing— curious and entertain- 
ing. " Neptune's Steeds " is an excellent lyric— a piece that 
Longfellow might have written. Mr. Chittenden's volume is 
sure to become a favorite. — Glasgow (Scotland) Herald. 

The breezy life, the dashing free spirit, the kiss of wander- 
ing winds, the sight of lofty mountain peaks, now the gladness 
of a song, now the pathos of a poem, will win from readers 
old and young unstinted praise and warm eulogy. The bold 
intellect of the author, tempered by culture and refinement, 
has produced a volume that must bring him l^rtit.— Public 
Opinion. 



Ranch Verses. 

" Ranch Verses" will meet with admirers, not so much on 
account of their poetic excellence as owing to the air of free- 
dom that permeates the entire volume, yet it cannot be denied 
that there are rich, sympathetic, elevating touches in Mr. 
Chittenden's verses. — Toronto (Canada) Globe. 

This volume contains much genial information about Texas ; 
the cowboys, round-ups, etc. One must really attach value to 
this book. — N. Y. Evening Post. 

Mr. Chittenden has done his work carefully — we can hear 
the cyclone rushing by, and we feel that ranch life has a good 
deal that is enticing in it when we read such lines as " The 
Cowboys' Christmas Ball." Mr. Chittenden writes very 
pleasing verses, and we are glad to have his book. — N. Y. 
Herald. 

One of the most interesting and readable books of poetry 
ever published. — N. Y. Press. 

"Ranch Verses" will be found to be agreeable and in- 
genious. — N. Y. Sun. 

" Ranch Verses " possess a power, a richness of humor, a 
force of expression, and a jingling music which are simply de- 
lightful. — Brooklyn Standard- Union. 

"Ranch Verses" are interesting. The author versifies 
pleasantly on all subjects, people, and scenes, from Cape Ann 
and Bar Harbor to Anson, Texas. — Brooklyn Eagle. 

The pieces are excellent. A vein of beauty, simplicity, and 
a careless sort of style suggest breezes from the staked Plains 
and the hills of the Guadaloupe. — N. Y. Independent. 

There is originality and spontaneity of inspiration in some 
of the pieces contained in a volume entitled " Ranch Verses," 
by "Larry" Chittenden, which reproduces here and there 
something of the fresh air and the wild life of the prairies. — 
London (England) Times. 

The Cowboys have not had long to wait for their poet. The 
joys and sorrows of the ranchmen, their life on the lonely 
plains under the open sky, find adequate expression in this 
volume of creditable verse. — London Publishers' Circular. 

One of Mr. Chittenden's best pieces is " Neptune's Steeds," 
not one of the best is where he endeavors to chaff Mr. Kipling. 
But we are never quite out of charity with Chittenden, except 
when he rhymes Alice to palace. — Manchester (England) 
Guardian. 

The dialect poems are worthy to stand beside those of 
Bret Harte and Riley. — N'ew Orleans Times-Democrat. 



Press Opinions. 

" Ranch Verses" have a swing and dash and a rare fresh- 
ness. — Boston Literary World. 

Very pretty verses, and very comprehensive. — A^. Y. World. 

The best metrical description of ranch life ever published. 
— N. V. Evening Telegram. 

" Ranch Verses " show freshness of themes and considerable 
cleverness. The gallop of a broncho seems to have got into 
the lines. " Majah Green" and "The Cowboys' Christmas 
Ball " are good examples of pure American humor. — N. Y. 
Recorder. 

Chittenden's Ranch is a home of the muses. It has de- 
veloped a high order of prairie poems. — N. Y, Home yournal. 

" Ranch Verses" is a worthy and very welcome contribu- 
tion to our best American poetical literature. Mr. Chittenden's 
verse flows with an ease, freedom, and vigor that are very 
attractive, and almost invariably it is marked by true poetic 
genius and scholarly carefulness. — Boston Home yournal. 

A most charming book of poetry. Mr. Chittenden is a 
genuine poet. His poems have touch, insight, rhythm, and 
merit which ought to be recognized. — Boston Traveller. 

There is considerable descriptive power in " Ranch Verses," 
and they have a swing and force which is very agreeable. 
The book deserves approbation. — Boston Congregationalist. 

"Ranch Verses" have a wild native flavor which is 
agreeable to the taste. The author has a cheerful spirit, 
he possesses considerable originality, and has the knack of 
turning off stanzas with accuracy and ease. — Philadelphia 
Ledger. 

Many of Mr. Chittenden's poems possess divine fire, and 
there is a certain sweetness, simplicity, and freshness about 
them which gives them an unusual charm. The opening 
poem, " Hidden," is worthy of Tennyson or Longfellow. It 
is a beautiful volume. — National Tribune. 

A volume of poems which will fully entertain lovers of song. 
It is in great variety, and capitally rendered. Mr. Chittenden 
is a born poet ; his songs seem to flow as naturally as that of 
the birds of his hills and mountains and valleys. — Chicago 
Inter-Ocean. 

Chittenden's poems have a swing about them which is very 
attractive. He gives us Flemish pictures of Texas life, the 
realism of which is never vulgar, and the habit of which is 
rich, rare, and racy. — Chicago Post. 



Ranch Verses. 

Mr. Chittenden has won and deservedly retains the title 
of "Poet Ranchman." His book will make the name of 
Chittenden a household word in thousands of homes long after 
his pilgrimage among men has ended, and it will secure for its 
talented author a conspicuous place among the most deserving 
verse writers of the country. — Chicago Sun and Drover's 
yournal. 

" Ranch Verses" are pleasant, and have the spirit of a free 
and breezy life. Beyond the limits of Western dialect the 
best poem is one entitled " The Vikings of Cape Ann," a song 
to the Gloucester fishermen. It is spirited and natural, with 
the genuine poetic instinct in it. — Chicago Times. 

The " Poet Ranchman" has rounded up a very choice coL 
lection of his verses. Variety is the soul of it all, and the 
spice of life pervades it. — St. Louis Republic. 

" Ranch Verses" are full of the true spirit of poetry. — 
Scr anion (Penn.) Truth. 

There are some charming gems of verse in this volume, well 
worth the rich setting they enjoy. — Cincinnati Enquirer. 

We cannot help feeling that East and West there will be a 
good many pleased readers of a volume of poems called 
" Ranch Verses." Chittenden is genuine, and his verses have 
the true flavor of the soil. — Detroit Free Press. 

The book contains an excellent collection of versification, 
and will certainly fill a place in the vast field of poetic litera- 
ture. — Burlington Hawkeye. 

A very pretty volume, and very pretty verses. Some of the 
poems are really fine, true of metre, lofty of conception, and 
felicitous of expression. — New Orleans Picayune. 

Chittenden's muse has a fresh, sweet note of her own, both 
musical and graceful. — Charleston News and Courier. 

In nearly everything Mr. Chittenden writes there is a breath 
of the prairie and sight of the open sky. Has vitalized the 
jolliest, the best scenes and sentiments of Western life, and 
placed the West on a higher plane than previous conceptions 
and old descriptions intimated. Infinitely better in design 
and quality than Bret Harte. — Galveston-Dallas News. 

The public is to be congratulated that Mr. Chittenden's 
poems have been gathered into permanent form. With the 
hand of a lover he has painted a thousand pictures as clear and 
true as ever shone on artist's canvas. Nature's vibrant chords 
echo through everything the " Poet Ranchman" has written. 
—Houston (Tex,) Post. 



Press Opinions. 

We like the volume, and are pleased to commend it for 
its literary merit, its subjects of interest, and strong moral 
teaching. — San Antonio (Tex.) Express. 

" Ranch Verses " are none of them long ; they are varied in 
style, and differ widely in choice of theme ; many are local, 
others purely sentimental, and some are extremely pathetic. 
The versatility of the " Poet Ranchman's" genius is too well 
known to need further comment. — Fort Worth ( Tex.) Gazette. 

There is a sense of freedom and a note of the untrammelled 
in " Ranch Verses." One may almost hear the whistling of 
the Northers and the dismal howling of the coyotes in " The 
Cowboys' Christmas Ball." — Louisville Courier- Journal. 

The characteristic notes struck in "Ranch Verses" are 
pride in manliness, love of the natural, and scorn of the arti- 
ficial. Through all the lines there is a practical, healthy view 
of life and duty. — Richmond ( Va.) Dispatch. 

The scope of " Ranch Verses " is from Maine to Florida, 
from Hell Gate to the Golden Gate. — Montclair (N. J.) 
Times. 

' ' Ranch Verses " are sure to prove a blessing to the dlase 
readers of modem poems. — Montclair ( N. y.) Herald. 

" Ranch Verses" is a book filled with vivid pictures of the 
round-ups, the herds, the songs of ranchmen, and Christmases 
of the cowboys, done in verse, not of the Browning style of 
incoherent utterings. No ! Chittenden's poetry is of the 
practical sort. He strikes the lyre with the stout right arm of 
a genuine free-born American. A man who roams at will the 
vast prairies and sleeps at night gazing at the myriad stars of 
the whole heavens is not given to writing twaddle. Let 
Book Notes advise you to buy this clever book. — Rider's Book 
Notes. 

This book is much more than the title implies, and it is bright 
and entertaining from cover to cover. A volume that one may 
open at random and be sure to find something interesting and 
worth reading. — American Bookseller. 

The whole book teems with life of the healthiest kind. 
Every page is interesting, and worthy of Bret Harte and Field. 
We cannot do better than recommend " Ranch Verses." — 
N. Y. Electrical Review. 

Texas has a poet of whom she may well be proud. The 
muses were dispensing their best gifts when they threw their 
spell on " Larry " Chittenden. — Peck's Sun. 



APe29 190< 



